Three braver, franker, and more chivalrous hearts never beat in male
breasts than those that beat under the jackets of Ned Romer, Clarence
Raybold, and Fred Weldon.
Ned Romer, the long-acknowledged hero and captain of the school, was
about seventeen years of age. He had won his supremacy, as all lads
must do at schools, by hard fighting and expertness in outdoor games and
sports, as much as by general proficiency in his studies.
The boys expected him, of course, to be dux in the schoolroom; they
could never have respected a duffer, no matter how smart he may have
been on the field. An ignorant booby could never win schoolboy respect,
no matter how great a fighter he proved himself to be.
To become the leader of a school requires many perfections in a boy. He
must have the same qualities which form a leader of men--personal force
and self-control, the power of controlling and influencing those about
him. He must be always prepared and ready to face unexpected
difficulties, be tireless in his work, willing ever to help his
followers in their task, and thus win their admiration, by proving that
he knows much more than they do.
He must be prepared to act as champion for the school, if called upon;
to be the best batsman and bowler, the most tireless runner and swimmer;
in fact, to be constantly on the qui vive.
Schoolboys are very keen critics, and don't give their admiration
blindly. True, once their allegiance is given, it takes a good deal to
destroy the prestige of their hero. Unlike grown men, they do not
easily forget Ned Romer had all the natural qualities of a hero.
Physically, he was tall for his age, handsome, strongly formed, and
absolutely fearless.
A well-posed, firm head rested between square shoulders. His hair was
crisp, curly, and light brown. His eyes were those bright and blue eyes
that look frankly and bravely out upon the world, and never shift when
appealed to. When boys or men possess those kind of eyes, a lie direct
is an impossibility with them. They cannot prevaricate. It is not the
despicable meanness of a lie that prevents them; they do not consider
such ethics or reasons. Like George Washington, they simply cannot tell
a lie. To do so would be a physical impossibility. The liar and the
craven are natural products, and go together, as real courage,
magnanimity, and truth are ever found united.
His habits of constant exercise had made Ned Romer an athlete. A
natural aptitude for study and thirst for knowledge made his tasks a
pleasure, and easy to acquire. He was ambitious to shine, and could not
endure defeat. To him an obstacle meant an enemy to be overcome and
destroyed, and until he achieved this, he had no peace of mind.
This was his last term at school; and during the years he had spent at
Shebourne Academy, he had learnt that the most precious of all a brave
man's possessions is the habit of controlling his temper. He had a
fiery temper. Now, a temper is as needful to boy and man as a pair of
strong arms, but, like strength, this must be kept in reserve for
occasions when force is required, not dissipated in senseless outbursts.
As our story progresses, the reader will find out more about the
characteristics and temper of Ned Romer.
Early in life he had been left an orphan, under the guardianship of his
late father's solicitor.
This guardian was a bachelor, who evidently considered it to be the
beginning and end of his duty to pay the school fees and other expenses
of his ward.
Thus Ned had never been invited to visit his guardian during his
holidays, the master of the college, or academy, Dr Heardman, LL.D.,
M.A., etc., being paid to look after the boy during the holidays. In
consequence of these arrangements, Shebourne Academy was the only home
that Ned Romer had ever known, and his schoolfellows were his only
friends.
Some lads would have felt lonely and have pined under the monotony of
such a life; but Ned was not one of the brooding kind. The country all
round the academy was beautiful, being in the heart of Devonshire, and
within sight of Dartmoor hills. What money he required, in reason, his
guardian freely sent, and as Ned had lived here ever since he could
remember, his needs were not extravagant, with such Spartan tastes as he
had.
Books he had in profusion, for the doctor's library was at his disposal.
He found amusement enough during the vacations in studying botany and
reading books of travel and exploration.
When asked by his guardian what vocation he would like to take up in
life, during one of that gentleman's rare visits, Ned had answered
promptly--
"I mean to be a traveller."
His guardian was pleased with this reply; at least, he seemed to be so
from the way his foxy face beamed and the manner in which he rubbed his
hands together.
"Yes, Ned, I think such a life would suit a bold, strong lad like you
exactly. You might go to Australia or Africa, and make a fortune in no
time."
"Oh, I don't care much about the fortune," replied Ned, carelessly. "As
long as I have enough to live and keep clear of debt, I'll be satisfied,
so that I can do some good and help on civilisation and the glory and
power of England."
"Like the great Cecil Rhodes, eh--the Empire maker?" said his guardian,
slyly.
"That is my ambition, Mr Raymond," answered Ned, calmly.
He was not very familiar with his guardian, and although he could not
say that he disliked him, yet he always felt better pleased to bid him
good-bye than to welcome him at the beginning of his infrequent and
short visits.
"Hum--yes; I think we shall be able to advance your views in this
respect. Your father was not a rich man when he died, Edward. However,
I need not go into that matter now, as I shall tell you all about it
when you have left school. But I dare say--as I have been careful of
what he did leave--that I shall be able to provide you with a
comfortable start in life."
This conversation had taken place on the last visit of Mr Jabez Raymond
to Shebourne Academy at the beginning of the finishing term. Since then
Ned had diligently pursued his studies, and was pretty well prepared to
face the world, as far as theory could prepare a young man. Experience
must hereafter be the finisher of his education.
Clarence Raybold and Fred Weldon ranked next to Ned Romer in proficiency
and expertness. They were both bold fellows, who had moulded
themselves, as far as they could, on the pattern of their leader and
hero, Ned.
Both had battled and worked their way upwards to their present proud
position. The other boys owned their superiority, but--as will chance
so often--while being good and faithful chums, there was not a little
rivalry between them as to which should stand next to Ned Romer. Some
of the boys boasted that Raybold, the Africander, was the strongest and
best; some vowed by Weldon, the Australian.
A school is somewhat like a ship; there cannot be two first officers any
more than there can be two captains, if perfect harmony is to be
maintained.
Affairs had been long brewing towards an open contest between these two
friendly rivals for the supremacy. They were very nearly the same age;
Weldon was only a month older than Raybold, both being in their
sixteenth year.
They were both tall and strong, Raybold an inch wider in the chest,
while Weldon was two inches taller. Raybold was the best batter, Weldon
the best bowler. They could both swim and dive like fish. In this
exercise they surpassed Ned and every other boy round about the
countryside.
The favourite study of Ned was botany; Fred Weldon was an authority on
chemistry, and Clarence Raybold on astronomy. In these accomplishments
they stood apart and equal.
In their other studies they were also reckoned pretty equal. If one
excelled in one branch, the other excelled in some other department.
There was only one way left to decide the question at issue, and this
was, as Nature decides the same question of supremacy, by fighting.
It may seem a barbarous thing that boys and men cannot settle such
disputed points in any other way except by battle. Savages settle it
thus. Civilised races do the same, and amongst healthy boys it appears
to be as strict a necessity as amongst men.
Thus it happened that a Saturday had been fixed upon for the grand
tournament between those rival knights, with the entire school as
spectators and Captain Edward Romer as umpire.
There was no personal bitterness between the two colonial boys, for
although there had been of late considerable friction, this had occurred
more between the supporters than the principals.
A mass meeting had been called, and the contest between Australia and
Africa decided upon. The two champions were moved alone by ambition and
the desire to settle their future position, once and for all. They had
likewise agreed to abide by the decision of the umpire and the school,
without any further appeal.
It was to be a friendly enough contest, yet all knew that it would not
be a drawing-room or stage play. It was to be a real, not a sham
battle.
The ground fixed upon was about three miles from Shebourne, down by the
river, at a spot where the banks were level and the water deep. This
was their usual bathing-place.
It is not my intention to describe this fight, further than to say that
it was fought according to recognised rules, without prejudice, and
decided in thirteen rounds.
The umpire watched keenly, and stopped each round when it was likely to
become too fierce. Thus, although some claret was spilt, it wasn't in
serious quantities, and could easily be washed away without leaving any
palpable traces. Clarence Raybold came out of the "mill" with a swollen
upper lip and some bruises on his biceps, and Fred Weldon with a flowing
nose.
Raybold was declared victor, while Weldon accepted his defeat with a
good grace. Africa had beaten Australia by only two seconds of time,
yet both had fought so splendidly that the audience, without exception,
declared that the defeat was nearly as good as the victory. Both had
conducted themselves so temperately yet sturdily, taking and giving such
real strokes, and warding off with such rare skill, that the supporters
of Weldon were as proud of his actions as were the Raybold section of
his deeds of daring.
With loud acclaim they were unanimously declared worthy champions of
"Shebourne," of whom the academy ought to be proud.
It was a glorious day in early summer. The leaves were lushly green and
fresh, the sunbeams warm, and the water in front of them most inviting.
Therefore, after Ned had delivered his unalterable decision, young
Africa shook hands with his brother young Australia, and they all
finished up the fun by casting their clothes on to the grassy banks and
plunging into the transparent river, like lively tadpoles.
After this eventful day there was complete concord at Shebourne Academy.
Fred Weldon took his orders from Clarence Raybold, who submitted to the
wise and experienced authority of Ned Romer, and the long and happy days
of schoolboy life flew on unheeded towards their close.